


Waste My Time

by chucks_prophet



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Croatoan/Endverse, And at Least They're Literally Together Til The End, Angst, But We Can Dream, Can't Really Say Hopeful Ending for This One Cos We Know They Both Die In Endverse, Drugs, End of the World, Established Relationship-ish, Heavy Angst, Inspired by Music, M/M, Shotgunning, Slow Dancing, Smoking, mention of suicidal thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-12
Updated: 2017-09-12
Packaged: 2018-12-29 02:09:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 907
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12072384
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chucks_prophet/pseuds/chucks_prophet
Summary: One too many times, he's been here, standing outside Cas's cabin. Even now and again, a wind will pass through the desolate place, but not even the sound of them breathing is audible. Dean can't remember the last time he's breathed, come to think of it. Has to be months. Because months ago, at this same doorstep, Cas took Dean's hands, guided him inside, helped him out of his jacket and shoes, and passed him his joint.





	Waste My Time

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to Dean Winchester, for always giving me an outlet to express myself. I've always felt like I have a connection with him, just because we often think or feel or say the same things in certain situations. It's helped a lot with my OCD.
> 
>  
> 
> Always Keep Fighting, ya'll, cos even if and when the world is ending, there's still more fanfic to be read. Including mine, cos I'm not going anywhere. <3
> 
> (Also, sorry about the wonky formatting. There was an attempt. :P)

Waste My Time

  **Song: "Waste My Time" by Saint Asonia**

_Hold onto me_  
Like we're the only ones that see  
The sky above us falling down  
And breathe in my ear  
Like we're the only ones to hear  
The mountains crashing down

  
  
It's the end of the world.

REM were twenty-seven years too early on that one, but how many Croats Dean would cap for his ears to be graced by music again. What was that one station he used to love? CC FM? Yeah, CC FM, Cruising Classics. They played everything from "Free Bird" to "Alright Now", "Paint It Black" to "Goodbye Stranger". 

But the song that caught Dean's ear at attention every time was a Beach Boys song. It'll be a miracle if he actually remembers the name of it. He knew the song before they broadcasted it, of course. Dean grew up with rock metal influence, but even he couldn't resist the alien-esque riff from the Electro-Theremin on "Good Vibrations" if he tried. 

But the first time _that song_ spiraled into his ear on that station, he thought, unlike "Good Vibrations", it was actually kind of a depressing choice for road music, despite it being a love ballad. Whoever the song is written for obviously has a profound effect on Brian Wilson, because, well—to put it simply from Dean's perspective, anyway—he's still alive. That's one of the lines in the song: Brian doesn't know "what" he would be without the love of his life— not "who", but "what".

And it's not hard with Dean's cyclical thoughts of suicide—not so much now that he has a purpose and someone to share it with, but they still crop up sometimes out of old habit—to fill in the Mad Labs blank with that morbid noun.

Now, Dean's face-to-face with a proper noun—although, between the drugs, sex, and orgies, the man's become anything but proper over the last few years. And he's aged. The puffiness under his eyes is more prominent, making up for the lack of clouds in the sky, though his eyes themselves hold the same dark blue as the night sky above his doorstep. His equally dark hair is fit for a bird's nest, if there are any birds left. Dean's eyes drop down to his flat pink lips, where a thin roll of smoke pillows out like the rapidly receding landscape, its ash being blown just south of his face.

One too many times, he's been exactly where he is now, standing outside Cas's cabin in silence. Even now and again, a wind will pass through the desolate place, but not even the sound of them breathing is audible. Dean can't remember the last time he's breathed, come to think of it. Has to be months. Because months ago, at this same doorstep, Cas took Dean's hands, guided him inside, helped him out of his jacket and shoes, passed him his joint. He waited for Dean to take a long, deserving hit before leaning closer to his face and parking his hands on either side of Dean's face, his mouth just over his as he inhaled Dean's breathy exhale.

They would do this for a while, just trading the joint back and forth. They have what he told Risa that night after one too many beers, but have never gone as far as he and Jane in her cabin, so there’s no need for words.

All of this happens, except this time, after the fourth hit, Dean closes the rest of the distance between them and captures Cas's mouth. They've kissed before, but that usually doesn't happen until after Cas guides him to his bed. But those are lazy and without intent. This time, Dean kisses firmly and with purpose, knowing he could die tomorrow by his brother's hand. 

Regardless, Cas still tastes like marijuana and incense, and kisses back, but allows Dean to take control. And unlike saving the world, this is something he can afford to be late getting around to. Cas is always here, always will be. As much as Dean's mind tries convincing him he could lose him, he knows it’ll always be the two of them, for worse or really worse.

And maybe, just maybe, of all wreckage surrounding them, that's the one sliver of evidence Dean has of there being a God.

God.

  
That's it. That's the song.

  
Dean slides out of Cas's lips to hum the intro. He moves his right hand from Cas's neck to match his left resting on the small of his back. Cas gets the hint when Dean starts to sway, relocating his hands from Dean’s chest to his shoulders. They move closer as Dean approaches the chorus—memorizing first the way Cas feels pressed against him, his smile against his jaw, and his warm breath stroking his neck. Then Dean begins singing in his low, sultry tone:  
  
"You never need to doubt it  
I'll make you so sure about it  
God only knows what I'd be without you…”  
  
  
  
_Forcing back the tears_  
_Over all the years_  
_Boarding up the door_  
_Throw my hope to the floor_  
_I could not forget now it all makes sense_  
_That you're here with me_  
_And I never ever want to leave_  
  
_I would have wasted most of my life_  
_Never even knowing you_  
_Now you sing to me and I still don't believe_  
_That you wanna waste some time with me_


End file.
